


The Weight of Morality

by joudama



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joudama/pseuds/joudama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy has no idea, and Angeal intends to keep it that way. Because you see, Angeal's got these pesky little things called morals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Weight of Morality

His eyes were bright even before the mako. Angeal had noticed him from the first day, from the training the new SOLDIERs underwent before they were even really SOLDIERs, when they had the uniform but the mako was still a week or so away. Even back then, the boy stood out, so exuberant that he couldn't be still; even standing he was in motion, his eyes wide and bright as the sky, taking in everything, shining with _life_.

And then, after the mako, they _gleamed_, shone physically like the spark of raw life in the boy that Angeal was drawn to and wanted to reach out and take within his hands.

But he never did; there were lines, of course. And he had no need to cross them, not when the boy, in his exuberance, in his damnable _innocence_, reached out for him instead, jumping on him and grabbing him and behaving like the puppy Angeal nicknamed him to deflect away from how much he _wanted_. Because if he laughed and teased and _bore_ it when the boy touched him, if it seemed he was more _amused_ than anything, then he'd never have to _stop_ it.

And he didn't want to stop it. Especially not now, not when everything seemed to be going so_ wrong_. Everything was going wrong, and there the boy was, that one bright spot that he hungered for.

The boy had jumped on him, all overexcited puppy, yelling "Angeal, I love you!!!" as he did, and without the _slightest_ idea in his stupidly innocent head of what he flung around.

"Get off of me!" Angeal had yelled, grinning, shoving the boy off before temptation could really hit him, knowing it was dangerous, by the goddess, was it dangerous, to feel the drape of his arms around him. He put his hand on the boy's chest and shoved away before the feel of the muscle and the heat of the boy could be more than a passing sensation, through it was burned into him with that one touch. He pulled away quickly, all the more for how much his hand wanted to _linger_.

It was so easy to laugh, to use it to cover how much part of him _wanted_.

Plus, it was hard not to laugh around the boy. And when there were few things in your life to laugh at, it was hard not to hold onto the one bright spot there was, hard not to _want_.

And that was why he was here now, leaning heavily on the wall of his shower, one arm thrown up against the wall and his face buried in the crook of his arm, the other hand wrapped firmly around his cock, moving quickly as his breath hitched and spasmed.

He knew the feeling of the weight of the boy, for all the times he had happily thrown himself on Angeal's back, knew the feel of those arms around him, and it was easy, too easy, _far_ too easy, to imagine that weight settling on his lap, those hands that always _touched_ on his shoulders holding himself steady as he rocked up and down. It was far, far too easy to imagine that voice _changed_, just slightly, gasping his name, gasping his name, _gasping his name_\--

He spasmed and felt the wash of release flood him, biting down on a cry. And when it passed, he shut his eyes, breathing still sharp and heavy, and leaned heavily against the wall.

The boy had no idea. He had no idea, and Angeal intended to keep it that way.

It would have been easy, he suspected with a strange feeling twisting his gut, to take advantage of the boy's wide-eyed admiration of him. Easy, but _wrong_. Angeal felt the weight of his responsibility and his position, like an albatross around his neck. There was right and there was wrong, and Angeal knew which side of things he intended to come out on, in _this_ at least.

But Shiva help him, it was a nearer thing than he would have liked.

He looked at his hand, still splattered with come, and let out a sigh as he held it under the shower spray, the water washing it clean.

Angeal groaned and shut his eyes, quite certain of one thing, and one thing only:

One day, Zack Fair was going to be the _death_ of him.


End file.
